The Dance
by SMS13
Summary: She is taken through a dance within her mind...


The Dance  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish I could have them, but I can't, and I'm dealing....  
  
The rain pattered against the window, engulfing the world into a dark, streaming bliss. It hypnotized even the smallest creature, making it run back into the comfort and warmth of its home. She watched the tiny droplets slide down the window, hit the sill, and continue their repeated journey. The thunder roared in the distance, breaking the hypnosis, the lighting hitting only moments before. It enlightened the room. She wished it wouldn't. She didn't want to remember what she was doing, or how she felt about it. The black of the world always had suited her. She didn't need to see. Only to feel. Feel his body against her, feel him entering her, feel him.   
  
She took the crisp white sheet off the bed, wrapping it around her body. She was almost as white as it in the given light. She slowly treaded to the window to get a better look at the world below. At the world she was deceiving, lying, and murdering. At the world she would never have yet once again. She stood there, looking at the ground. A lonely soul walked across the darkened street. Probably on his way home to an empty apartment, to a cold bed. Just as she always was. She never stayed. It made her feel so dirty, so rotten.   
  
She propped herself on the table that sat right next to the open window. The drops tickled her breasts through the thin sheet. But she wasn't going to move. It would take too much effort, too much time. One leg instinctively supported her sitting position underneath her, another up bending, making a definite place for her head. She turned her head left to face the window, then quickly twisted away. The street lamps had finally come on, the sudden light knocking her out of her sleepy state. She looked at the body lying on the bed. So gentle. So passionate. So undeserving.   
  
She searched for her half-smoked cigarette and lighter by the ashtray. She needed something to take up time. She lighted it, pulled in slowly, letting the nicotine enter her body, and completely absorb into her. She breathed out, like she was doing it seductively, slowly, carefully. Like every move was a dance. And anything more fierce would cause her to collapse. She made of porcelain. Her every move reflected that.   
  
She turned back to the rain. It began to pull her into a different world. A world she never knew, never wanted to realize, never wanted to experience. The cigarette found its way back to her mouth every time, breathing in slowly, slightly, and releasing. She realized she hurt. With every breath she took she felt like she had to force it, that the world under her was going to collapse and she would begin to fall. Fall downward into blackness, emptiness, and pain.   
  
She let the sheet slip away from her body, and she sat there, completely exposed. It didn't bother her. The rain had already soaked through the sheet anyway. She felt like she was in a trance. Her body on autopilot. Get up in the morning, go to work. Eat, drink, sleep. Whatever happened in-between she wasn't aware of. She didn't know what she had done, but she felt the aftermath. Like a quiet, innocent town that gets hit by a tornado in the middle of the night. The town, the people, the buildings, all destroyed. Without a warning, without even a glimpse of hope.   
  
Hope was a strange thing. When your life was fine, you had it. Not that you really needed it then. But as soon as one thing begins to go wrong, the domino effect advances, and hope is the first thing to come crashing and burning down. And without hope, you loose your reason to live. Everything becomes either new or old, good or bad, done or not done. There are no emotions, no changes. Just black and white.   
  
Either you could fly over the tallest mountain, or sink to the bottom in the blink of an eye. Either you could touch heaven, or feel the heat of hell. Either you could touch the moon, or begin to sink to the darkest parts of the earth. Either you could feel so light, you could walk on air, or you felt so heavy, you couldn't move. Either you loved completely, or hated entirely.   
  
She didn't know where she stood. She had been so completely lost. So emotionally drained. So totally confused. She didn't have hope, but hadn't lost it completely.   
  
She heard the shuffle of bare feet on the cold ceramic floor. She saw a hand close the window slightly. She hadn't bothered to look up. She couldn't even glimpse at the face in front of her. It was too hard. It made her want to die. It was better not to look. Never to look.  
  
She felt his warm, dry lips kiss her neck, leading up to her mouth. She closed her eyes and pretended she was somewhere else, somewhere far away with the one she loved. But that would never happen. It almost had. Once. But never again.   
  
She shifted her position onto her feet. She was standing, and he towered above her. The passion that he had was completely heart and soul enriched. She wished she could feel the same. She wished she could show him she could love. But she knew she would never be able to. Her hands instinctively reached for the piece of cloth that laid tied around his waist, it was a routine, almost a dance. A dance she had learned years before and never forgot. But it wasn't a joyful, or even peaceful dance. It was a dance she clued herself out of. Let her body take over, her mind disappearing to a different place. She did it because she felt she had to, not because she wanted to. Love was a dance  
  
It twirled and shifted and waltzed you up every crevice of the floor and if that wasn't enough, it led you onto the carpet, the linoleum, the cement, the asphalt. Pulling every move it ever had. Then once in a while it let up, and you found yourself dancing to a light song, in perfect order. But then as soon as that moment passed, you were pack into the game.  
  
It was a game. A sick and twisted game that only time could unravel. And maybe that wouldn't even be the end of it. A game that had no pieces, but the opposition held all of them. A game that had no winner, only loser. A game that could destroy you with one wrong move. And she played the worst one of all. She had played every move the wrong way.   
  
She found herself on the bed, him on top of her. Her breasts were right up against him. All his weight was on top of her. She had no more control anymore. She closed her eyes again she felt him entering her. She was violated, despoiled, ravished. Eternally wounded. Unceasing, unending hatred. Not for the man on top of her. But for herself. She was misery. She was hate. She was hell on earth.   
  
She felt his moans of pleasure from deep within his soul. She couldn't do anything more than block everything out. The world around her, the sounds, the lights, the face, the actions. It worked sometimes. Then sometimes it was all too painful. She felt like she was only a body with a bitter mind left over. Every happy memory she had escaped, it left her to drown in her mistakes and miseries.   
  
She knew he treated her like she was glass, so gentle and compassionate. Like she would break before his eyes if he ever did anything wrong to her. But he never had, and never would. She never deserved to be treated like this. But he had. And she couldn't appreciate it. Couldn't even muster a thank-you.  
  
She felt a last passionate push into her, then a kiss on her lips, his tongue invading her mouth. Then he stopped, he pulled out of her, and she felt free again. He laid down once more, his head drowning into the pillow. His hand ran over to her face, pushing the few stands away from her eyes. She kept them closed. Then he traced the outline of her face, down her neck, over her sore breasts, and down her thigh. He leaned up once more and kissed her. When she finally heard his head go down, and felt his body slip into his usual sleeping position, she opened her eyes. She looked next to her. His brown hair was streaming onto his face. His tanned and overworked body was resting silently once again.   
  
She shifted her weight gently off the bed once more, and headed straight to the dresser, where she had left her clothes. She stealthily put her clothes back on, and grabbed her purse. She shot one last glance at the sleeping body on the bed. It was her routine. Never spend the night. Just get it over with, and run as fast as you can. You don't want to grow emotionally attached. You don't want to feel the pain of losing him. She had already lost Carter. She couldn't loose Luka too. 


End file.
